


Build a House in the Ruins

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Series: Always Been a Pencil [5]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Death Threats, F/M, M/M, Past Abuse, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-13 17:24:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21497779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: For as long as he could remember, Tommen had been a feather duster in a forest of knives.  He was a strange choice of a safe house.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Myrcella Baratheon/Trystane Martell, Sansa Stark/Original Male Character(s), Tommen Baratheon/Theon Greyjoy
Series: Always Been a Pencil [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1337353
Comments: 38
Kudos: 204





	Build a House in the Ruins

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set twenty years after the main action of What is True, But Not Ideal. In the world of this series, Theon did not get a chance to do anything to Winterfell. There is no child harm in this story. 
> 
> Many thanks to Luthorchickv2, who prompted me to dust off this story and complete it. I had no idea it would wind up this long when I started working on it again.

For as long as he could remember, Tommen had been a feather duster in a forest of knives. There were his parents (biological), twin blades sharpening their edges on each other for their entire lives. Stepmother Brienne with her fast fists and eyes like stone, who gave up her own softness to arm the world against bullies. Even the father that Tommen barely remembered (a heavy hand on the top of his head, the smell of cologne and gin, the deep belly laugh) had wielded words like a cudgel. 

There was his beloved sister with her management company, easily scooping competition for the best clients with a smile. His loathed brother, locked up where his steel couldn’t draw blood. His uncles on both sides: Tyrion, who probably thought of himself as soft, but could drink anyone under the table and come up with their entire life story including exploitable holes in their armor; Renly, who many made the mistake of trying to take advantage of before realizing that his round face and gentle voice were a thin veneer over Baratheon ruthlessness; and Loras with his painstaking armor of casual perfection. 

Even Rowan and Sansa, widely agreed to be the kindest of the cousins, had a ferocity when challenged that would take down anyone that dared to stand against them. 

And then there was Tommen, who had been known to openly weep at touching commercials and crumbled like a used tissue in the face of even a slightly aggressive comment. By design his life was soft. Kind. 

Days worked at his shelter, the volunteers often fed him hard candies and reminded him to wear a coat. Nights spent with family or friends. He lived only a half block from his father and Brienne, five miles from Myrcella. There was a group of guys from college, some convention buddies and ex-boyfriends turned to pleasant companions that occupied his time. 

He might’ve continued on like that indefinitely, if it wasn’t for the unpredictable ways of the Starks. It was a Monday, his day off and he had been planning on going to the good comic book store where he was friendly with all the clerks. The one closer to the house was alright, but they didn’t carry a lot of Magic cards and there was too much Warhammer for his taste. 

Before he could do more than feed the cats, there was a knock on the door. He tensed, turned on the tiny monitor on the kitchen counter. 

Robb Stark gave the camera a cheerful wave. Tommen huffed out a breath. Most people would call ahead, but he was used to Stark impulsivity after all these years. 

“Just a second!” he yelled out, heading for the door. 

When he threw open the locks, Robb was smiling at him and pulled him into a hug. All the Starks smelled a little like wet dog under their fine colognes and perfumes. It endeared them endlessly to Tommen. 

“Look at you!” Robb held his shoulders and searched his face. “I like the haircut.” 

“Thanks,” after years of wearing it at an indeterminate shaggy length, he’d taken Rowan’s cue and shaved the sides, letting his curls go where they may in the middle. On Rowan, it looked cool and sophisticated. On him it sort of looked like an overused toothbrush. 

“This is him?” Someone asked incredulously. 

A woman was getting out of Robb’s car. Tommen had never seen her before. She had a stern look, her hair yanked practically away from her face. She came alongside Robb, her eyes sweeping the perimeter of the little house. 

“Tommen, this is Yara Greyjoy. Yara, Tommen Baratheon.” 

“You’ve got to be joking,” Yara scoffed. 

“Uh, nice to meet you?” Tommen was suddenly acutely aware that he was still in his pajamas. His pants were covered in unicorns farting rainbows. “Not that it’s not great to see you Robb, but-” 

“Sorry I couldn’t call first. Can we come in? I need to...well. I need to explain and ask you a favor. A big one.” 

“Oh,” Tommen opened the door wider. “Sure. Do you want some coffee?” 

Yara swept inside, her thick heeled boots made no sound on his hardwood floors. Robb followed after. 

“That’s all right. I know we’re interrupting you.” 

“Um, okay,” Tommen sat down in an armchair, leaving the couch to them. Robb sat down on one end. Yara walked the perimeter of the living room before settling disgruntled on the other. “So, what’s up?” 

“A friend of mine is in some trouble,” Robb started then stopped glancing at Yara. She shrugged, offering no help. “You might’ve met him at some point. Theon? He’s Yara’s brother.” 

“Oh, um, maybe? Rickon and Bran mentioned him a few times in passing, I think.” 

“He was my best friend growing up, he practically lived with us,” Robb glanced again at Yara, but her focus had been pulled to Lala, the fluffier of the two cats that lived in the house. She was an inky black ball on the window sill at the moment, oblivious to Yara’s regard. “But we grew apart around the time my father died. Theon made some bad decisions. He almost...well. He almost did some damage to my family. He might’ve if Sansa hadn’t come back when she did.” 

“Okay,” Tommen tucked his chin over one knee. “But he didn’t?” 

“No,” Robb shifted uncomfortably. “He had a...I don’t know. Not a boyfriend. A guy. In his life. And the guy turned out to be bad fucking news. Like...if you’re brother had gotten a chance to be an adult.” 

Tommen swallowed hard, just imagining that was enough to turn his stomach, “And the guy stopped him from doing bad things to your family?” 

“He stopped him from everything,” Yara finally spoke, her eyes still firmly on Lala. 

“Basically,” Robb sighed. “It went on for a few years. I didn’t really know where Theon had gone after we got Sansa back and frankly, all things considered I didn’t really care.” 

“I found him,” Yara’s fingers tapped against her thigh. “I heard rumors. I tried to help him, but he was too far gone by then. Wouldn’t leave and the fucking cops said I couldn’t do shit about it because he was a grown man. They wouldn’t even do a wellness check.” 

They both went quiet. Lala yawned and stretched, her tail twitching as she rotated in her sun patch. 

“Sansa got him,” Robb said suddenly into the silence. “Or I suppose her charity did. Someone reported a man tied up in a backyard like a dog. This was when Sansa was still at Winterfell. She went herself. Waited until no one was home and just...broke in.” 

“She’s a badass,” Tommen said proudly. 

“She is,” Yara was finally turning, making unnerving, unblinking eye contact. 

“Yeah,” Robb smiled faintly, “So she saved Theon.”

“Okay, great. Happy ending,” he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Still not sure what you need from me though?” 

“He’s as recovered as he can be, but that’s never going to be who he was,” Yara said bluntly. “He stays with me when I’m not working. With the Starks when I am. Company is better for him.” 

“Normally fine,” Robb nodded, “but after everything, they managed to get Ramsay-that’s the shitheel that had him, Ramsay Bolton- put in jail. He escaped two days ago. And one of the first things he did was leave a pretty clear sign that he knew exactly where Theon was and was just biding his time to get him back.” 

“Oh,” Tommen shrank a little. He and Myrcella had contingency plans if Joffery ever somehow got free. None of them were nice. 

“And that’s the favor,” Robb heaved a heavy breath. “I know it’s asking a lot of you, but you’re the only person I can think of that we can stash him with that will treat him the way he needs AND won’t be immediately guessed by Ramsay.”

“You want me to play protector?” He blinked. “Literally anyone else would be a better choice.” 

Yara launched herself off the couch and Tommen flinched back. But she didn’t head towards him. Instead she stalked to the window sill and crouched down so she was face to face with Lala. 

“This cat is missing an eye and a leg,” her look was fierce, but she let Lala sniff her fingers and gave her a light scratch. “What happened to her?”

“Nothing good,” Tommen rubbed at his chest. “She didn’t get on well at the shelter, so I took her home.”

“There’s Rey too,” Robb put in, looking less serious now as he watched Yara look resentfully gentle with the puff of black fur. “Unless you’ve gotten more?” 

“Two is my limit at home,” Tommen smiled faintly.

"Good man. He's excellent with skittish animals."

“I’m not sure I like you comparing my brother to a rescued beast,” Yara was turning on Robb now. Tommen knew how to disappear when titans clashed, so he just tried to breathe quietly. 

“You didn’t have any ideas,” Robb got to his feet. “Who’s your Plan B?” 

She let out a hissing breath, her hand falling to her pocket, but she only whipped out her phone and started texting so furiously, he worried the screen might break. 

“So, yeah. That’s the favor,” Robb said ruefully. 

“Can I house a man with PTSD so serious that he can’t be left alone who’s being hunted by a violent sadist?” 

“...yes?” 

Tommen pressed his thumb to one of the little prancing unicorns on his pants, it’s rainbow trail whipping over a puffy cloud. He had a lot of thoughts all at once, very loudly. 

“All right,” he lifted his chin. “Can I tell my family?” 

“Yes,” Robb said with evident relief. “Of course. But try to keep it to in person contact?” 

“He needs a room with a door that locks just from the inside,” Yara clutched her phone like she might hurl it at Robb’s head at any second. “He likes to do his own laundry, but don’t ask him to do yours. If he asks permission about things that seem obvious, you just say yes. No yelling, even if it’s just at the fucking television. No dogs. Just..no fucking dogs ever. He likes to go out, meet people, but he’s terrified to go by himself and embarrassed to ask, so offer him outings.. Don’t...don’t be fooled by good days. He’ll lock himself in his room sometimes and won’t come out. You just leave him be, you understand?” 

“Yes,” Tommen said softly. “I understand.” 

“If anything happens to him under your watch,” she finally turned to face him full on. She had a gaze that could wither trees to ash. 

“It won’t,” Robb said swiftly, his pacing taking him almost directly in front of Tommen, partially shielding him. “Just...trust me.” 

“I don’t have to trust you, Stark. I have to trust a Lannister.” 

“I really wish we could all stop reducing ourselves to last names,” Tommen didn’t stand up, didn’t even unfold himself. “It makes us all sound ridiculous, worse than going by astrology signs or something.” 

“What did he say?” Yara’s anger seemed to retreat, confusion setting in. 

“Kids these days,” Robb grinned. “You should ask Rickon about what being a Stark means to him. Mom almost fainted.” 

“I’ll watch your brother, I’ll do my best to keep him safe. I can’t make you any promises, except that I’ll try,” he said as firmly as he could. 

“What are you? A plucky sidekick in a kid’s movie?” she blinked rapidly. 

“Plucky sidekicks kick ass,” he muttered. 

“How about you say thank you?” Robb suggested. 

“I’ll thank him when I’ve got Ramsay’s neck snapped in my hands,” she spun on her heels at stalked out of the house, slamming the door. 

Lala let out a scolding ‘mew’. 

“Sorry,” Robb ran a hand through his hair. “She’s...got a lot on her plate?” 

“I get it. You should've seen what ‘Cella did to a guy that gave me a wedgie once. When should I expect him?”

“Probably by the end of today. Pretty much everything Yara said is on par, but I’ll email you anything else I can think of. But I don’t think you’ll need it. He’s much better than he used to be.” 

So instead of getting comic books, and maybe going to bug his sister at work until she agreed to buy him brunch, Tommen was frantically cleaning his house, running out to a hardware store, and trying not to think about what he’d agreed to. 

By dusk, every surface in the house was clean (well mostly, Rey and Lala had generously donated fur on everything recently de-furred) and smelling good. Tommen had changed into actual day clothes. Then changed again. He had no idea what someone wore for this kind of thing. It wasn’t on Mother’s List of Appropriate Things to Wear When Faced with a Crisis. Mother had had a lot of lists once.

The monitor chimed again just when he was considering maybe trying to do something about dinner. This time there was no Robb or Yara, just a familiar hulking mass and a smaller baseball capped one. 

“Sandor!” Tommen called out, through the door. “Is that you?” 

“Who else would it be? Open the fucking door, it’s pissing down out here!” 

He opened the door and hugged Sandor as soon as he came in. It was a little like hugging a huge barrel. Sandor just grumbled and took it, stiffly patting him once on the head. 

“How’s Banana?” He asked. “Is he doing okay? The vet said he should be healed up by now.” 

“I told you, I renamed the damned horse,” Sandor sighed, “And he’s fine. Damn beast rode me right into a tree, almost gave me a fucking concussion.” 

“Aw, so he’s just like Stranger!” 

“Close enough,” Sandor shrugged in a way that said it absolutely wasn’t. “Got your package here.” 

“He’s not a package,” Tommen scolded, then turned to the slender figure standing in Sandor’s shadow. “Hi, I’m Tommen. I was going to start some dinner up. You two hungry?” 

“Can’t stay. Didn’t get tailed, but I do rounds often enough to get noticed being missing,” Sandor didn’t touch Theon, didn’t even acknowledge him as he stepped around. “If you need a back up, call Little Bird. She knows how to bring it.” 

For a large man, he could disappear when he wanted, gone again in seconds. They stared at each other for a moment. 

“Um, so how about you? Dinner?” Tommen offered. 

A pale hand reached up to remove the baseball cap. Theon held himself at an angle, body clenched a little into itself, his hair long enough to hide some of his face even without the cap. His eyes were clear and bright, flitting around the living room. The suitcase was a small black affair, standing at attention. 

“I could eat,” his voice was steady and stronger than Tommen would’ve guessed. 

“Great! Um, I’m a vegetarian, not sure if Robb mentioned that. I don’t mind if you have meat, but I don’t have any idea how to make it.”

“Anything is fine. Not picky.” 

“Okay!” He said with probably too much false cheer. “I make a pretty good penne ala vodka, maybe some garlic bread?” 

“Sounds good.” 

“Oh, I should probably show you the house first. You probably want to get settled in, see your room.” 

Theon smiled faintly, “Yes, thanks.” 

“Right, so this is the living room,” he gestured over to the chair he’d been huddled in only that morning. “The remote is on the coffee table, if you want the TV.” 

He pointed out the kitchen, his bedroom and the laundry room.

“No basement,” he explained as they got to the end of the hall. “The house is actually on stilts in case of the water flooding in.” 

“That’s common where I’m from,” under the brighter lights of the hallway, Tommen saw the unnatural perfection of Theon’s teeth. Someone had spent a lot of money so his smile would flash white and even. “We just built on the high ground.” 

“I’ve never been out to the ocean that far north, is it really different?” 

“I haven’t been to it this far south, couldn’t say.” 

“It’s your backyard for now. You’ll have to tell me what you think,” he opened the door the guest room. “Usually it’s just my sister that uses it, so I hope it’s okay.” 

It was a small room with just one half circle window over the bed. He’d cleaned all the bedding at least, so it smelled fresh enough. A bedside table, a lamp. The closet. 

“Oh, uh. I tried to clear as much out as I could, but this is sort of my overflow space,” Tommen shoved a little at the hangers to shove them back further. “I store my cosplay in here.” 

“What’s cosplay?” Theon rested his suitcase against the foot of the bed. 

Tommen ran a hand through his hair, probably sticking it up in seven different directions, “It’s a hobby where you make costumes of fictional characters you like. I’ve only been doing it for a few years, but I tend to go overboard with hobbies. And hey now I can sew, mold plastic and do some intense makeup looks.” 

“Just so you can look like a superhero or something?” 

“Or something,” he laughed. “I do all sorts of things. Anyway, sorry for the closet space.” 

“I didn’t bring much anyway.” 

“Okay, cool,” he pointed to the door tucked in the other corner. “Technically this is the master, so there’s a bathroom with a shower. If you want a bath, you can use mine.” 

“Shower is fine.” 

Tommen opened the door to go back out. He didn’t point out the freshly installed deadbolt, but he had a feeling Theon noted it all the same. “If you want to get settled in, I can start dinner.” 

“I can help.” 

It was odd, having a stranger in his kitchen kitchen. Theon was good with a knife, cutting onions in wafer thin slices. His used the heel of his other hand to hold it in place. Tommen tried hard not to stare at the places where fingers had once been. 

“Are you for or against mushrooms?” 

“Against,” Theon said, giving him a quick glance, then back to his work. “But I can pick them out.” 

“No big, they’re not really traditional anyway,” Tommen said lightly. “Garlic? Little bit or all of it?” 

“All of it.” 

“That is the only way to live,” Tommen nodded. 

Besides that, they didn’t talk much. Mostly Tommen concentrated on not burning anything. By the time he was pulling the bread out of the oven, Theon had apparently located everything and set the table. 

“Thanks, napkins are a good upgrade. Forgot I had them,” he brought everything to the table. “Usually when I’m home, I just eat in front of the tv with paper towels.” 

“Bachelor lifestyle?” Theon’s hair caught the light as he sat down, waves burnished briefly in gold. 

“Maybe some. Mostly it’s just how I was raised. Brienne and Uncle Jaime tried to have regular family dinners, but our schedules were all weird and sometimes it was just easier to do fast and simple,” he took a piece of garlic bread, offering the bowl of pasta to Theon first. “Those were the best nights though. Just hustling down food while we both tried to tell whoever was home all the important stuff.”

“I can imagine,” Theon hesitated, but did serve himself a reasonable amount and took bread. “When Ned...when all the Starks were still home, it was like trying to eat with a pack of wolves. Wolves that loved each other, but still. Just bits flying everywhere. Arya almost stabbed me with a steak knife when I tried to take the last dinner roll once.”

“I watched her have a staring fight with a snake once,” he bit into his bread, “she won.” 

“When she was eight, she beat Robb in an arm wrestling match and he pretended that he let her win. But I knew the truth.” 

“Sandor once told me that he was afraid of her, so I feel safe admitting that she terrifies me.” 

“Me too,” Theon laughed. “And I remember when she was still in diapers.” 

They both had a lot of Stark stories and it passed dinner easily enough. Dishes went into the dishwasher and Theon dried while Tommen washed the pans. 

“If you don’t want to hang out, that’s fine,” Tommen offered. “I was just going to do some reading before bed, probably.” 

“What are you reading?” 

To his surprise, Theon seemed genuinely interested when Tommen explained about the graphic novel he was working his way through. When Tommen mentioned it was part of a series, Theon requested the first one and they wound up reading companionably together in the living room. 

Rey wove into the room, and hopped up next to Theon on the couch. 

“That’s Rey,” Tommen offered as Theon watched her with some suspicion. “If you don’t want her near you, just let me know.” 

“It’s fine,” tentatively, Theon put out an open palm. She gave it a quick sniff, then butted her head against his fingers. 

“She wants cheek scritches.” 

Theon gently scratched her and her loud rusty purr filled the room. 

“We have cats around,” he said quietly. “But they’re working animals. To keep the mice and rats off the ships.” 

“Rey once killed an ant. She was very proud,” Tommen laughed. “She and Lala are very much indoor cats.” 

“You have an animal shelter,” Theon glanced up at him. “That’s what you do, right?” 

“Mostly, yeah. King’s Landing has a huge stray problem, so I concentrated on cats, but there’s some surrendered small pets too. Lizards, birds, rodents, that kind of thing.” No dogs because they didn't really have the facility for them, but right now that felt lukcy. 

“What about the Hound’s horse?” 

He stretched, setting his bare feet on the coffee table before realizing his guest might find that gross. Oh well, too late now, “Sometimes people just dump animals off at our door. I came in to open and there was a horse tied to our fence. I knew Sandor had just lost his, so I figured it would be a good match.” 

“And you named him Banana?” Theon’s eyebrows raised. “Knowing that?” 

“Sometimes you have to make your own fun.” 

By ten, they were both in their own rooms. Tommen changed and sat on the edge of his bed. He’d taken the smaller bedroom as his when he first bought the house because of the view. It had a big bay window that looked out on the ocean. 

It had been hard to sleep when they'd first come to Brienne's house. She would often find him awake when she came home from shifts. She'd been so stiff, so uncertain, but would offer to go for a walk with him, wait while he pulled on sneakers, and then they would go out. Her endurance seemed superhuman, how she could walk along the shore with no sign of fatigue despite the late hour. She never pressed him to talk, or offered any words herself. Sometimes they would stop to watch the moon setting or toss pebbles into the waves. 

And now he could look at them whenever he wanted.

Down the hall, the plumbing creaked. He wondered what Theon remembered when he looked at the water. 

Just before closing his eyes, Tommen reached under his bed and pulled out the lockbox that he kept there. With a resigned sigh, he unlocked it and pulled it’s contents from the depths. He stored it in his bedside table. Just in case. 

In the morning, he found Theon already awake and dressed. He was on the living room couch, holding the book from the night before, but not reading it. 

“I mostly drink tea, but I’ve got a french press if you want some coffee?” Tommen offered. 

Theon blinked slowly, then rolled his head a little until there was a soft pop. Only then did he look up at Tommen, “Don’t really do caffeine.”

“I’ve got some good herbal teas if you want one. I’m going to head in around 8. You’re welcome to come with me.” 

Theon declined the tea. He did present himself at the door when Tommen got there, ready to head out. The rain of the day before had mostly cleared, but it was still grey and cool. Tommen started down the sidewalk. 

“It’s in walking distance,” he explained when he saw Theon’s glance backward at the car. “I don’t actually drive all that much, but Uncle Jaime thinks not having a car is a fate worse than death.” 

“Is it a long walk?” 

“Just a few blocks.” 

Theon had a slight limp, nothing anyone would notice if he was crossing a room, but rapidly apparent on the longer stroll. Tommen frowned. He probably should’ve offered the car anyway. Too late now. 

Their breath caught in the cool air, the roar of the unsettled water thickening the silence between them. It took several minutes longer than usual to get to the shelter. Not a bad thing necessarily. It was nice to look around the neighborhood a little and keep in step with someone else. 

The shelter was a clapboard building with fresh bright blue paint. The sign hung out over the street with thick cartoonish letters, ‘Oceanside Cat Shelter’ with oversize pawprints pressed into the concrete of the sidewalk beneath. Tommen pulled the keys out of his pocket and opened the front door. 

“Good morning, Tommy!” An older woman came in through the back. 

“Good morning, Genny,” he smiled. “Quiet night, I hope?” 

“Oh, you know,” she laughed, “A little dust up around 11, but everyone came out all right. Well, hello young man.” 

“Hi,” Theon gave her a small smile. 

“This is Theon, friend of mine,” Tommen said hurriedly. He saw her accessing look and his cheeks pinked. 

“Always good to meet a friend of Tommy’s,” she smiled back, broadly. “I’ll head out then. See you tomorrow.” 

Usually Genny liked to stay and have a cup of tea with him in the morning, but apparently she’d decided he needed some privacy. 

“That’s my night crew,” Tommen explained after the door closed behind her. He booted up the front desk computer, tossing his coat over the back of the chair. “Well, half of it. Denni is the other half.” 

“Cats need 24-7 watch?” Theon’s brows rose. 

“Depends. We have a lot of hard up cases that need medical observation. Also stealthy overnight drop offs. In cold weather, we look out for that.” 

“And yet the horse...” 

“Don’t even,” Tommen groaned. “Genny claimed they managed to do it entirely silently.” 

“A whole horse?” 

“I know! I know. And yet she can hear a kitten left on a doorstep three miles away, I swear.” 

Tommen got the computer started, then headed towards the elevator. 

“Doesn’t someone stay down here?” Theon trailed after him. 

“There’s a bell. The next set of volunteers comes in at nine,” he hit the button. “And it’s time to feed everyone.” 

The upstairs was divided by a hallway. The first door was labelled ‘Nursery’. Tommen grabbed up the container of kibble outside the door and opened it slowly. No one made a run for it, which was nice. 

The room had a wide deep window with a cushion on the sill that was speckled with tiny furry bodies soaking in the early morning sun. 

“How many kittens are in here?” Theon shut the door quickly behind them as one ambitious black streak headed for the exit. 

“Right now? Ten. We’ve gone as high as fifteen, but they get adopted out quick for the most part,” tiny claws dug into his pant’s leg. He reached down and scooped a curious white fluff ball onto his shoulder. 

“Everyone likes babies,” Theon said vaguely. He watched as a pair raced over his feet, but made no effort to interact. Tommen poured exacting amounts of food into bowls in the cages and popped everyone into their spots, closing the doors so no one would steal food. 

“Okay, seniors next,” he brushed his hands, heading into the next room. “Most of them are lifers once they come to us.” 

An enormous orange tom was waiting as the door opened, amber eyes unwavering on Tommen’s face. When he spotted Theon though, Tommen was dismissed. He stalked past and rubbed his cheek against the newly presented pants. 

“That’s Juice. He wants you to pet him, no obligation.” 

Most of the older cats were asleep on one of the cat trees, some entwined. Their ears twitched at the sound of food, but only a few raced to the bowls. When he was done, he turned to find Theon sitting against the wall. Juice had colonized his lap. 

“Want to stay here while I get everyone else?” Tommen grinned. 

Theon nodded vaguely, running his hand down the cat’s back and scratching at the base of his tail. The rest of the cats were in-betweeners, some of whom had to be kept to themselves. He gave them all pats and spoke softly as he moved through the cages. Eventually Theon reappeared, now liberally spread with fur. 

“Just in time to go for the everyone else,” the last door in the corridor emmited a gust of warm air hit as they pushed in. “I hope reptiles don’t bother you. There all in their terrariums anyway.” 

There were three active terrariums at the moment, one lovely smallish boa spooled up in her hollow tree, a gekco ignoring a grasshopper, and an enormous frog, half in and out of his pool. The large bird cage held a small flock of budges, twittering among themselves. The opposite wall housed cages for a few guinea pigs and one delicate ferret curled in her hammock. 

“Do you mind if I let the birds out?” 

Theon shook his head, so he unlatched it. The all stretched their wings, landing around the room. One settled in Tommen’s hair, and another his shoulder. They stayed there, chirping irritably every time he leaned over to fill someone's bowl. 

“You’re a Disney princess,” Theon snorted. 

“Am not,” Tommen closed up the ferret’s cage after giving her a long pet. She sighed against his touch. “They don’t typically get bird shit in their hair for one.” 

A rough rusty noise creaked through the air. Theon was laughing, hand over his mouth. Tommen smiled down at the ferret. One of the budgies tugged at his hair with her beak. It was a nice morning. 

The whole day was pleasant. The volunteers started buzzing through. They didn’t get many inquiries though they did have a young woman stop by to pick up one of the kittens that she’d chosen the week before. Tommen spoke to her at length and when he looked up it was getting dark. Theon had mostly haunted the lobby, apparently adept at sitting quietly. He hadn’t allowed much fussing from the volunteers, giving them quick, but complete enough answers to their questions that they couldn’t find purchase to mother hen at him. 

“I hope you weren’t too bored,” Tommen pulled his coat back on to head home. 

“No,” Theon gave him a half-smile. “It was nice.” 

The next few days went by the same way. Theon got into the shelter’s rhythm a little and stopped shadowing Tommen’s every move around the place. By Friday, Tommen had to go looking for him when it was time to go home and found him in the senior room, sitting in the window sill with Juice. 

“You know he’s available for adoption.” 

Theon glanced down as if taken aback that there was a cat in his lap at all. As if he hadn’t been up here for sometime judging by the thick coat of shed fur on his pants. 

“He seems happy here.” 

“Sure,” Tommen squatted down to distribute attention among a few interested noses. “But cats can be happy in a lot of places.” 

“Why do you like them so much?” Theon asked, then bit his bottom lip as if he wanted to take the question back. The tone had been a little sharper than it had been. 

“What kind of answer are you looking for?” He returned calmly. “There’s the long emotional one or the short obvious one.” 

“Both,” Theon looked out the window. 

“They like me,” Tommen itched under a calico’s chin. “It’s easy to like what likes us back.” 

Theon nodded vaguely, “And the long answer?” 

“I was really isolated as a kid,” he folded his legs, plopping down onto the floor. “I learned early that adults can’t be trusted. Other kids could be cruel. My own brother was a monster. The cats were there. They liked me. They comforted me. When everything changed, when we moved in with Uncle Jaime and Brienne...the cats were consistent. They were something I understood that changed with us. I still trust them more than people.” 

“They’re just animals,” Theon’s teeth were gritted, but his hand stayed gentle on Juice’s back. “What do they know?” 

“They don’t have to know anything,” Tommen shrugged. “They just want to eat, sleep, chase something once and awhile. A hand to get the spots they can’t itch. And to feel safe.” 

“Do you feel safe?” 

“I do here.” 

Theon glanced at him and then away again, “Yeah. I can see why." 

The day set up a pattern for their week. Tommen drove them to the shelter the next morning, but after that Theon requested they walk. Days with the cats, nights reading. It was peaceful. 

On Sundays, Tommen usually ate dinner with Uncle Jaime and Brienne. 

“You don’t have to come, but you’d be welcome,” Tommen offered. 

“Do you think they’d mind?” Theon lingered in the doorway of his room. 

“No. I told them that I had an emergency house guest and Brienne invited you. We’re probably just going to have pizza.” 

“Pizza is good,” but he was still in the doorway. “They might’ve heard about me. From before.” 

“Maybe, but Uncle Jaime won’t remember. He doesn’t save space for things that don’t directly impact him or us. Brienne won’t judge,” she might actually. Brienne could be very judgemental in her way, but she would never ever show it. She had always been stiffly kind to Tommen’s friends, apparently grateful they existed at all. 

Tommen was already in the car (it was dark and cold and he wasn’t without hope) when Theon made up his mind and came out from the house. He got into the passenger seat without a word. 

Brienne was outside when they pulled up. She had on a sweatshirt and gym shorts and she was apparently weeding the small herb garden. 

“Final harvest?” Tommen guessed. “Frost tomorrow.” 

“Possibly,” she brushed her hands together, dirt crumbling away and rose from her task. “Weatherman are never right.” 

“This is my friend, Theon Greyjoy,” he gestured toward him. “He’s staying with me for a few days. Theon, this is my stepmother Brienne Tarth.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Theon half mumbled, but he held his hand out for a shake and seemed only a little surprised by how her hand enveloped his. 

“Go on inside,” she turned back to the garden. “I’m just going to get the last of this.” 

Uncle Jaime was in the living room, standing in front of the TV apparently looking for the score on a basketball game. 

“Hey,” Tommen flopped down on the couch. “You’re squinting again.” 

“I am not,” the retort came without him turning around. “This is a glare of anger. Displeasure.” 

“You should go back to the ophthalmologist.” 

“If I wanted someone to nag me, I’d call Tyrion.” 

“Uncle Tyrion has nice glasses. The tortoiseshell ones.” 

“I don’t even think those have lenses in them. He just likes to look smart.” 

Theon watched them talk, standing uneasily between the couch and the door. 

“Greyjoy, isn’t it?” Jaime glanced over at him. “You look a lot like your mother.” 

“You met my mother?” Theon frowned. 

“A few times, before she became a Greyjoy,” he said absently, clearly still watching the game. “Nice girl. Good at math. She tutored me for an exam once and got me to actually pass it which was a minor miracle. I’m sorry for your loss.” 

“Thank you,” Theon sat down heavily next to Tommen. The unplanned arrival skewing him closer than usual, their knees touching briefly. “We miss her a lot.” 

Tommen hadn’t known his mother was dead. He wondered when it happened, how it happened. They were still nearly strangers to each other which felt wrong somehow. Perhaps all the hours they’d spent together this week had warped time a little, making it feel much longer. 

“Do you want me to put the order in?” Tommen asked, when the silence threatened to stretch. 

“Not yet. Good thing too, what does your Greyjoy have on his pizza?” 

“Not mine, his name is Theon and I don’t know. Theon, what do you like on pizza?” 

“Uh, what do you ususally get?” 

“Tommen is outlier and shouldn’t be counted," Uncle Jaime snorted. 

“I’m never going to forgive Myrcella for teaching you about memes. I get the garden slice,” Tommen explained. “Olives, peppers, onions, spinach, and tomatoes.” 

“Doesn’t a pizza already have tomatoes?” 

“That’s what I always say,” Uncle Jaime turned around to point at Theon. “This one is smart. I like him. Do you eat meat, Greyjoy?” 

“Just chicken and fish,” Theon lifted his chin a little. 

“Barbequed chicken?” 

“Sure?” 

“Good. BBQ Chicken Pie for us, Tommen and Myrcella can have their salad pile.” 

“She’s coming?” Tommen perked up, instantly less annoyed and embarrassed. “I thought she had an out of town meeting.” 

“Cancelled,” he was already pulling up the number on his cell. “I think it was some kind of tryst.” 

“Tryst? With who? Who even says tryst anymore!” 

“Calm down, Tom, I’m on the phone.” 

The front door opened with gusto, his sister’s voice ringing it, “I have wine! Someone come help me or it goes on the floor!” 

Tommen got up and headed out to take the bag from her. She looked tired. She’d clearly dressed for family dinner, hair slung back without braids, no makeup and her faded university sweatpants. She had two bottles of wine in each hand. 

“Were we planning on getting Sunday Soused?” He frowned taking them from her. 

“Gift from a client. I thought Uncle Jaime might like the red and Brienne can take the white to the bar if they don’t want it,” she thrust two of the bottles at him. “What a week.” 

“Heard you had a cancelled tryst.” 

“Who the fuck says tryst anymore?” 

He looked at her pointedly. 

“Ugh, no it wasn’t anything important,” she pushed by him into the kitchen. The bottles slotted into the fridge next to a disturbingly large mound of kale. “I didn’t tell you because it was just..you know. A guy. No one special. And I was glad he changed his mind. I’m too tired to be cute.” 

“Okay,” he handed her the bottles in his hands. “I didn’t think you were coming, so I didn’t tell you we’ve got a guest.” 

“A guest?” she whined. “Tom, no.” 

“He’s staying with me for a few days, Robb asked,” he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “He’s kind of..spookable. Just play nice, he doesn’t care what you look like.” 

“Uh huh, and who is this spookable guest?” 

“Theon Greyjoy? Robb-”

“I know who he is,” she said quietly. “I heard- Sansa and I were just talking about...because..” 

“Yeah, exactly.” 

“You’re the safe house?” 

“You don’t have to sound like that about it,” he scowled. “It’s just somewhere where no one knows him.” 

“Bolton is dangerous,” she hissed, “this isn’t a nice little favor, Tom.” 

“I know what I’m doing,” he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Do you?” 

“I know you don’t get to decide things for me.”

They glared at each other for a long moment before Myrcella huffed out a breath, “Fine, whatever. It’s your life. Did Uncle Jaime order pizza already?” 

“Yeah. He got Theon to agree to BBQ chicken.” 

“Did he remember that Brienne hates it from that place?” 

“No, he did not.” 

She sighed, “I’ll call them back.” 

When Tommen ducked back into the living room, Uncle Jaime and Theon were watching some sport’s commentator and chatting about rugby by the sound of it. Or at least, Uncle Jaime was talking about it and Theon wasn’t interrupting him.

“Ok?” Tommen sat down on the remaining bit of couch. 

Theon looked over at him, the wry half-smile that Tommen was growing used to on his lips, “I’m good.” 

The pizzas arrived, three instead of the original two ordered. Uncle Jaime opened the third one (onions and pepperoni) puzzled while Myrcella quietly paid for the delivery. 

“She won’t eat the honey type bbq sauce,” Tommen reminded him. 

“I always forget the stupid sauce! BRI!” He called up the stairs. “You know I love you and all your picky ways, right?” 

“I’m not that picky!” She called back down, “Just write it down! I keep telling you to write it down!” 

“I did write it down,” he grumbled. “I just didn’t check the notes before I ordered.” 

They ate at the kitchen table, wine in all their glasses though Tommen noted that Theon didn’t drink his at all. 

“I just don’t see why it’s necessary. I don’t want the parents hanging around,” Brienne was picking pineapple off her third slice, eating them first. “They make the kids uncomfortable.” 

“So stick it in the back,” Jaime shrugged. “I just think if someone’s donating a perfectly good couch, there’s no reason to put it on the curb.” 

“There’s probably room by the lockers,” Myrcella was already done eating, leaning back in her chair. “More comfortable place to pull your shoes on than those horrible folding chairs.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Brienne allowed. “How about you, Tom? Anything new at the shelter?” 

“Not really. I’ve been trying to find a placement for a parrot. They live for so long and this poor woman really can’t take care of it anymore. She’d like to see it go right into a new home.” 

“What about your friend, 'Cella?” Jaime grinned. “The Dornish man?” 

“I've told you a thousand times, he’s not a pirate!” She groaned. 

“He owns a boat, has a goatee, and wears those weird pants. He’s a pirate.” 

“It’s a yacht which he owns and the pants are fashionable,” she said firmly. “And I’m reasonably sure Trystane doesn’t want a parrot.” 

“Maybe ask him anyway?” Tommen smiled hopefully at her. 

“No,” she rolled her eyes. 

“Do you think Uncle Tyrion wants a parrot?” 

“What are your feelings on Aunt Tysha kicking your ass?” Myrcella raised her eyebrows. 

“Don’t say ass at the table,” Uncle Jaime said absently. 

The conversation flowed onto Myrcella’s more stubborn clients until Tommen got up to put the dishes in the dishwasher. Uncle Jaime started fighting with the pizza boxes, trying to fold them down to fit in the garbage while Brienne foil wrapped the leftovers. Myrcella was hand washing the wine glasses and humming something tuneless under her breath. 

By the time Tommen remembered to look for him, Theon had been gang pressed into holding the garbage bag while Uncle Jaime shoved his triumphantly collapsed cardboard into them. 

“Come to mine on Thursday,” Myrcella glanced up at him. “We can do a movie night. Bring your guest if you’ve still got him.” 

“Okay,” Tommen grinned, happy to have the tension resolved. 

“Don't walk home in the dark,” Uncle Jaime commanded as Tommen went to get his coat. 

“Uh huh, that's why I took the car,” he handed Theon the thick black peacoat that seemed to be a second skin and pulled on his own fluffy purple disaster that Myrcella had pranked him with a few years ago. He wore it mostly to annoy her and also because it was very warm. “Love you too.” 

Then it was hugs all around, before he could escape, gather Theon and head back into the night. 

“Hope they weren’t too much for you,” he cinched the zipper all the way up to his chin. 

“They’re like the Starks, but meaner,” Theon decided. “I like them.” 

Tommen grinned, “Yeah, so do I.” 

Unfortunately, Tommen had forgotten that red wine was one of his migraine triggers. When his alarm went off, he woke in agony and smacked it off. He fumbled for his phone, texting Genny. Once he got confirmation that a volunteer could handle the morning, he stumbled to the kitchen to take a pill and had to hold himself against the sink for a tumultuous second. 

“Hungover?” Theon asked incredulously. He was already in the kitchen, a bowl of untouched oatmeal in front of him. “From one glass of wine?”

“Migraine,” he explained, deciding to just rest his forehead against the cool metal rim of the sink. It was nice. “Called out. Going to go sleep it off.” 

“Oh,” Theon’s fingers traveled restlessly over a spoon. 

“You can read whatever you want out of my collection,” he offered. “Sorry I won’t be a good host.” 

If Theon responded, he didn’t hear it. He gathered his resources to get safely back into bed, pulling the blankets over his head to blot out the light. He fell back to sleep thank the gods, waking much later with only the ghostly feeling of the migraine’s fading agony. 

There was a very soft knock on his door. 

“I’m up,” he lied. “Just give me a second.” 

“It’s okay,” Theon said hesitantly. “I made some toast for you? If you want it.” 

His stomach rumbled, nausea thrown off now, “Yes, please.” 

He prepared himself to get up, but to his surprise Theon just came in. He had a plate with the promised toast and a glass of water in the other. 

“Oh, wow, thanks,” Tommen sat up. “You didn’t have to.” 

“It’s toast,” Theon scoffed. “It’s literally the least I could do.” 

“It’s toast I didn’t have to get out of bed for, so thank you.” 

Theon set it down on the bedside table. He hovered for a second and Tommen waited to see if he would leave. When he didn’t, “You can sit down, fi you want. Read anything good this morning?” 

Theon sat down gingerly like his slight weight might upset the mattress and all its contents. Tommen picked up his toast, taking a grateful bite. 

“I didn’t. I went through the movies. Watched Iron Man.” 

“The first one?” Tommen tried not inhale the bread. 

“I’d never seen it before. It was a little more complex than I thought it would be. I’m not sure if I liked him.” 

“Tony? Yeah, that’s a tough one.” 

“Do you think he could be...forgiven? After all that. Just because he rights a few of his wrongs.” 

He finished the first slice of toast, “I don’t know. I’m not a great person to ask about that. I tend to forgive too easily. Myrcella and I used to go visit Mother together all the time, but as we got older... she’s really mad at her. Can’t get past it. And she’s not wrong? But I just don’t have that in me. To stay that angry for that long.” 

“You still visit her?” 

“Less than I used to. On her birthday and the holidays. I write her sometimes,” the visits were fraught, fragile things. Maybe they would disintegrate entirely some day. 

“Do you forgive your brother?” 

“Fuck no,” Tommen snorted, “He’s never been sorry. Mother was a little sorry, at least for what happened to us.” 

“Sometimes I don’t think I can ever...I don’t know. Ever feel forgiven.”

“I don’t know what you did, but I think after all this time and everything you’ve been through that has to be penance enough.” 

“But that’s not something I did to make it right,” Theon was staring straight ahead now, blank like he sometimes was. “That’s something that was just...done to me. ” 

“What would make it right?” 

“I used to imagine I could die saving someone else. That that would wipe the slate clean somehow.” 

“But you don’t anymore?” 

“No. Or at least, I don’t want to. Life is good. I want to live. I just want it to hurt less.” 

“I went with Myrcella to Dorne once,” Tommen moved the crumbs on the plate around with his finger. “Back around the first time she and Trystane were dating. They’ve done a few cycles by now. Anyway, he was trying to make sure I had a good time. Wanted to impress the little brother, I guess. We’re close enough that it’s not a bad strategy. 

“He took us out into these ruins. Ancient palaces made of stone that were crumbling into decay. If it was here in King’s Landing, someone would’ve made them a museum with placards everywhere and careful guided tours. But not in Dorne. There was a whole village built between the columns of this palace. There was a row of houses in what must’ve been the throne room, all sort of leaning against each other.” 

Theon frowned. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“Because I think that’s the right way. To not build a museum to old pain. I try to build houses in the ruins.” 

Theon stared at him, barely blinking. The silence stretched and eventually Tommen just picked up his other piece of toast and ate it. He was hungry after all. 

“How are you like this?” Theon eventually managed. 

“Excellent question,” Tommen shrugged. “I blame Uncle Tyrion, frankly. He made me read a lot of weird shit growing up. Want to watch a movie in here? I don’t want to face the living room yet.” 

They watched Captain America and eventually Theon carefully fluffed the pillow Tommen wasn’t using it and leaned it against the headboard, sinking into it. Afterwards, they had a much lighter discussion about Peggy and Tommen had queued up the first episode of Agent Carter when his video chat rang. 

“I thought that was tomorrow night!” he said delightedly, opening the call. The bright cheerful face of a five year old girl filled the screen. Sansa’s hand was briefly visible adjusting the camera. 

“TomTom!” She called out excitedly. 

“Eddie-Betty!” he waved frantically at her so she would wave back. Her hair was braided back, taming the wavy auburn mass, but it was trying to escape already with tendrils popping out every which way. “What’s up?” 

“It’s Grandpa’s birthday soon! He’s gonna be so old!” 

“I know, right?” Tommen laughed, hearing Sansa scold her off camera. “Sixty-five is like a million.”

“I’m making him a big card, do you want to see?” 

“Yes, absolutely!” 

While she dipped out of view, Theon made to get up. 

“You don’t have to go,” Tommen assured her. “She’ll love a bigger audience.” 

“Is that Theon?” Sansa took her daughter’s vacated seat. 

“Hi,” Theon said quietly, a slice of his face just making it into view. 

“Hi,” she said softly. She looked beautiful as always, her pale skin dotted with freckles after years of living in a warmer climate. “How are you holding up?” 

Theon shrugged slightly, “Keeping busy. Tommen has been a big help.” 

“I knew he would be,” she said serenely. And of course it had been Sansa. Tommen should’ve known Robb hadn’t thought if. 

“TomTom, look!” Eddie waved a brightly colored piece of paper at the camera. She clamored up into her mother’s lap. “Do you think Grandpa will like it?” 

“I think he’ll love it,” he nodded. “I got him a book, do you think he’ll like that?” 

She made a face at him, “That’s easy, Grandpa loves books. Mommy says it’s a cop-ping machine.” 

Theon stifled a laugh, Tommen bit his lower lip, “A coping mechanism?” 

“Uh-huh!” 

“Well it is,” Sansa blushed a little. “But let’s not repeat that, okay?” 

“Okay!” Eddie said merrily. “TomTom will you bring Pokemon cards with you to the party? My friend Dee has some and I want to play with her.” 

“Of course, we can hide upstairs when the grownups get boring.” 

“But TomTom you ARE a grown up.” 

“I am?” he widened his eyes. “Are you sure? Or am I just a very tall kid?” 

She giggled. She didn’t ask about Theon, seemingly content to ramble to both of them. Eventually she lost interest, hopped back down and went to go play. 

“Anything she wants for the winter holidays that Uncle Jaime and Uncle Tyrion haven’t already bought her?” 

“Mm,” Sansa shook her head. “Maybe just some Pokemon cards. Jaime already claimed bicycle and I think Tyrion bought her new things for her ballet class. Margie wants to design her some clothes as a test for her kid’s line. Who knows what’ll even be left for her birthday?” 

“Maybe a family trip,” Tommen mused. “So you don’t have to build a second house to hold all her things.” 

“That’s a good idea,” she nodded. “It’d be nice to get everyone in one place.” 

“Can we all fit in one place?” A man’s voice filtered over the air and then Rowan was tilting into view. “Hi, cuz.” 

“Hi,” Tommen tilted his head. “Is that new ink?” 

“Yeah,” Rowan touched his collarbone where the skin was still a little red, the colors bright. “It’s one of Eddie’s drawings.” 

“Aw,” Tommen beamed at him. “That’s awesome.” 

“Shut up,” Rowan laughed. “So we’ll see you at the party?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he agreed. 

“You two take care of each other,” Sansa leaned in. “We’ve got to go start dinner.” 

“BYE TOMTOM,” Eddie yelled when prompted from off screen. 

“BYE EDDIE-BETTY,” Tommen yelled back. 

“My speakers,” Rowan said mournfully. 

Another round of goodbyes and the screen went dark. 

“You seem close,” Theon ventured. “For cousins.” 

“We are,” he said simply. He wasn’t about to explain that Eddie was biologically his half-sister. Probably Theon knew some of it. The open secret of his parenthood was especially open among the old families. 

“You’re good with her,” he said thoughtfully. “I guess kids and cats aren’t too different.” 

“I’m going to tell Eddie you compared her to a cat, she’ll love that,” Tommen laughed. “And they’re pretty different, but I like kids too.” 

“Going to have some one day?” 

“Doubt it,” he switched back to his browser, pulling Agent Carter up again. “Even if I was interested in women, passing on my genes would be bad news. Might adopt I guess. I wouldn’t want to do it alone though. I’d definitely want a partner.” 

“You’re gay?” Theon sounded surprised. 

“What part of this,” Tommen gestured at his person, “suggested otherwise?” 

“I don’t know. I just didn’t think about it,” Theon shrugged. “It’s fine. I used to be an all you can eat kind of guy myself.” 

“Wow, that is a way to put it,” he pulled a face. “Used to be?” 

“It’s not really a factor in my life anymore,” his eyes were locked on the computer screen even though it was paused. “Not likely to be.” 

“Cool if that’s how you want it. Shame if it isn’t,” Tommen obediently started the show. “You’re good looking, polite, and you clean up after yourself. That’s better than half the guys I’ve dated.” 

“You should raise your standards.” 

“Tell me about it, hence my current single state.” 

They didn’t talk about it again, but they did watch enough Agent Carter that they both fell asleep to the sound of her voice ringing through the air. Tommen woke up before dawn, his laptop slumped between them with both cats curled at the foot of the bed. They were out cold, and it occurred to Tommen they’d never come in to complain about an empty dish. Theon must’ve fed them. 

The sound of Theon’s deep breathing barely wrinkled the air. He was curled up tight in his sleep. He was still in his clothes, but Theon tended to dress in a lot of warm soft layers, so he was probably comfortable enough. In the eerie pale light of the sun’s first incursion, Tommen studied him in a way he hadn’t let himself before. 

There was white peeking out at the roots of his hair, enough to suggest a pretty serious dye job. Even in his sleep, his face was tight, wrinkles crackling at the edges of his eyes and mouth. He couldn’t be more than ten years older than Tommen, but in the wrong moment he could look three times that. The hand missing fingers curled closed, held tight to his chest. 

Tommen could see how before things had gone so wrong, Theon could’ve had whoever he wanted. He would’ve been beautiful, with his light eyes and strong cheekbones. That wasn’t gone now, not really. He wouldn’t turn heads on the street, but there was something in the lines of his face that were arresting, interesting. And his eyes were still light and alive when he was focused. When he forgot to be silent, he was clever and quick. He could probably be cruel. So could a lot of people. 

All in all, this was a very inconvenient kind of crush. 

He slipped out of bed. He need to shower off a day spent in bed and to eat something. Theon was still sleeping by the time he was cleaned and dressed, so he had time to make something more elaborate. Waffles, he decided and found his waffle maker. It made the waffles look like the Death Star, a present from Uncle Renly. Loras had refused to put his name on it and given him a gift card to a hair stylist. Insulting, but useful which was pretty much just Loras all over. 

It was the first time since Theon arrived that Tommen was awake before him. It was strange to be alone in the kitchen again. Maybe he should consider getting a roommate. He really didn’t like living alone. 

“Smells good,” Theon shuffled in, still in his clothes from the day before, hair mashed up on one side of his head. 

“Do you want strawberries on yours?” 

“Sure.” 

And life went on. There was work to do after all. Theon came with him to the shelter and went up to the senior room without a word. When Tommen came in after the nursery, all the cats had their correct food and Theon was in the window with Juice. He smiled and left them to it. 

They had dinner and watched a movie with Myrcella. Theon agreed to go to the comic book store so Tommen could retrieve his much delayed fix. Tommen picked up some Pokemon cards then wound up explaining the concept of Magic the Gathering to Theon, who looked very unimpressed until Tommen mentioned his tournament winnings from his last year of competitive play.

“Why’d you stop?” Theon was looking through the rare cards that were kept behind glass at the store. 

“Stopped being fun. The cheating got ridiculous and it made people super angry. One guy ripped up one of my best cards during a match because he thought it was a forgery. The league made him pay me back, but it was a last straw sort of thing,” he sighed. “I play with friends sometimes. Rickon and I have board game nights when he’s in town or I head up north. Uncle Tyrion is up for a game sometimes.” 

“I like the illustrations. On the cards.” 

“Yeah, they get a lot of good artists,” he looked over the collection. “But I’ve got to stop buying them. They’re just gathering dust most of the time. Did you want anything?” 

“Do you think they’ve got more Deadpool here? I liked him that one comic you had.” 

They wound up with a handful of trades, along with Tommen’s pull list. Tommen’s phone buzzed as Theon paid. It was Robb. 

_No sign of him yet. Will let you know. Everything ok? _

Tommen sent back a thumbs up, then after a moment’s thought angled the phone up to take a picture of Theon accepting the bag with the logo on it. 

_ Proof of life. _

_ You’re not funny. Is that a comic book shop? Theon used to make fun of people for reading those. _

Theon looked expectantly at Tommen, holding the weighted down bag with every sign of contentment. 

_ People change _

By the time weeks became a month, if felt as if Theon had always been there. His unsteady presence, sometimes absent and sometimes irritable, ran like a river over Tommen. Uncle Jaime could be like that, jovial in one moment, irascible in the next, but always loving underneath it. Theon always seemed surprised by his own irritation and quick to try to smooth it over. Day to day, he found ways to be helpful though Tommen was careful to never ask anything of him. 

The volunteers had finally broached his fortress and Theon found himself draped with a thick knitted black scarf with fat yellow tentacles as a thanks for his help during a deep clean. They called him ‘Tom’s young man’ and neither of them bothered to correct them. Tommen because it was a guilty squirming pleasure to hear it. Theon...well he didn’t know why Theon didn’t. Perhaps it was another level of safety to be gently claimed and set aside like that. 

They got comfortable. They had a routine. While it was doubtful that Theon ever forgot why he was there, Tommen often did. He tried to be vigilant, but it wasn’t really his natural state. He didn’t read any of the news stories or bother following the case. They would let him know when the danger had passed. When Theon would be plucked back out of his life as fast as he’d been shoved into it. 

“Rear Window tonight?” 

They were in Tommen’s bed, laptop at the ready. After his migraine, he had tentively suggetsed a follow up in his bed. Three days into the Marvel inundation, Theon had casually requested Rebel Without a Cause which was how Tommen discovered that Theon was a secret movie buff. 

“Didn’t have a lot I could do the first few months after,” he explained, watching James Dean with close attention. “Lot of things were just...too much. But the classics were okay. They move a lot slower, so I could catch it if things were going south.” 

So they alternated blockbusters with Doris Day, Marvel with musicals. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever watched Hitchcock,” he admitted. 

“Travesty,” Theon declared and they were quickly caught up in the action. 

Keyed up from the tension afterwards, they switched back to the Simpsons. They fell asleep together semi-regularly, but tonight after a few episodes, Theon got up. 

“Good night,” he said around a yawn. 

“Night,” Tommen closed the computer, determined not to stay up too late. They’d never bothered turning on the light, so the darkness swallowed the room. 

He heard Theon’s footsteps shuffle across the room. The bedroom door closing. A few steps down the hall. His mind wandered for a moment until he realized that he’d never heard the other door open. Theon never wandered the house at night. There were no last minute things that he did before retreating into his bedroom. He didn’t trust the dark. 

Ice ran through his veins. Tommen wasn’t good at being vigilante, but he remembered how quickly things could go sour with someone unpredictable. How he had learned to listen for the silences. The silence had a texture now. Someone else’s muffled foot steps, to even to be Theon’s. 

A name was whispered that Tommen didn’t recognize. In a voice he hadn't heard before. It warped the air, turned suspicion to reality.

He reached into his nightstand. He moved quietly, socked feet on the carpeted floor. He opened the bedroom door slowly, barely daring to breathe. 

There were no windows into the hallway, but light streaked in from the living room. A chill creased the air, the front door left ajar when it had certainly been locked up tight. The bulk of a shadow moved at the end of the hallway. Theon was hunched in front of his bedroom door, a very quiet whimper breaking from him as Tommen slid into the hallway.

“What a mess you’ve made,” Bolton muttered. “Do you know how angry I am, Reek?” 

A mute shake of the head.

Tommen’s hand shook as he thumbed a button. 

“I’m going to drag you out of here by your lying hair and leave a trail of pieces for your bitch sister to find. Tiny little pieces,” the hiss was unnatural. 

Joffery had dragged Myrcella by her hair once, grabbing the long ponytail and just running. He’d been stronger than them both. Tommen, helpless and small, had only been able to scream until someone came to intercede. 

He took in a breath. Years ago, Margaery had taken him aside on his birthday and handed him a small package. She’d kissed his cheek and said that sometimes people just weren’t made for throwing punches, but that didn’t mean they had to stand there to take them either. 

Tommen took a deep breath, aimed. Fired. The taser went off silently. Bolton went down like a sack of wet clothes, smacking his head against the floor. Tommen knew he only had a small window. There wasn’t enough time to escape, so instead he knelt down on Bolton’s back, grabbing both his wrists. He was out cold for now, but he could barely hope that would last. 

“Theon,” he meant to yell, but his throat was tight. “In your room, there’s a bag of zip ties-” 

Theon was looking blankly ahead, and even in the darkness Tommen could see he was shaking. 

“Theon,” he said more firmly, “Theon!” 

A shuddering breath, Tommen’s blood was pounding in his ears. 

“Please, Theon, I need you to get up,” he pleaded. 

An ugly noisy breath pierced the harsh thick quiet of the hall, Theon started to stand. 

“Thank you,” Tommen breathed out. “In your room, there’s a bag of zip ties in the shoe rack in the closet. Toss me that and then all the belts, ok? Then just lock your door and call the police.” 

With zombie like slowness, Theon shuffled into the room. Bolton started to stir. With a violence summoned from some deep buried place, Tommen grabbed his hair and slammed his head against the floor again. It made a dull thud. 

Theon returned, silently holding out the ziplock. Tommen took it. The zip ties were barely long enough, but he was able to fashion makeshift handcuffs (Brienne had taught him how to get out of them and maybe the wrong end of the lesson had stuck). The belts he wove around Bolton’s ankles and then another around his mouth. 

He didn’t want to hear one more word that fucker had to say. 

“Did you call the police?” 

Theon shook his head and handed over his phone. The emergency number was dialed, but not pressed. 

“Okay, that’s good,” he said gently and took the phone. 

“This is the King’s Landing Dispatch, what’s the nature of your emergency?” 

“My name is Tommen Baratheon,” he sat down hard on the floor, leaning against the wall. “I have a convicted felon in my house. He was trying to murder my friend.” 

Tommen stayed on the line. They kept encouraging him to leave, but the image of Bolton disappearing somehow was too frightening to bear. He kept telling Theon to go: into his room, outside, just to get the hell away. But instead Theon sat right down next to him, their shoulders pressed tightly together. 

It wasn’t until the police were at the door and coming in that they got up. Someone turned on the hallway light. 

Bolton was still breathing, Tommen registered as someone wrapped a shock blanket around his shoulders. That was good. He wasn’t a murderer. 

Outside the world was bathed in blue and red lights. The sirens had been turned off, but there was still loud commotion as instructions were yelled and a team of paramedics went into the house flanked by more cops. 

“Tommen!” Uncle Jaime’s voice rang out over the crowd. 

It was too much. An overwhelming memory of being so much smaller and equally afraid. A crowd of strangers in their house and barking orders. Threats of foster care hanging over their head. Then Uncle Jaime arriving out of the dark, summoned and furious and fiercely possessive. 

“Dad!” He cried out, tears thick in his eyes and his throat nearly closed up. 

“Tommen!” 

His hug was just the same even if these days they were the same height. Uncle Jaime always smelled like cedar aftershave and Brienne’s favorite cheap laundry detergent. It was the smell of home and he hugged back, weeping. 

“We heard the sirens and then you weren’t answering your phone,” Brienne was there too, her eyes bright and wet in the flickering lights. “Are you all right?” 

“I’m okay,” he assured them through sobs. “Really. Not a scratch on me. I think they’re checking Theon now.” 

A stretcher emerged from the house. Bolton was awake now and screaming, his head bloody and his wrists more traditionally handcuffed to the stretcher. He looked like a nightmare, throwing himself against his bonds, eyes so wide that they looked entirely white. His screams had no form, just raw fury. 

“Where’s Theon?” Tommen pulled through his shock. “Does someone have him?” 

“He’s with the other ambulance,” Brienne was holding his wrist. When had that happened? She was holding him tightly like he might float away. 

“Could you check on him?” he pleaded. “He was really out of it.” 

Given a mission, she released him and strode off with purpose. 

“What happened?” Uncle Jaime asked, hushed. “Do you need a lawyer?” 

“Maybe?” he said weakly, still leaning against him a little. “It’s not assault if he broke into my home and was threatening to kill someone right?” 

“Fuck, Tom,” Jaime stared at him. 

“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to get your statement,” a younger officer approached them, looking a little wary of him. 

Jaime frowned, “Can’t it wait for the morning? He’s had a terrible shock.” 

“It can,” the officer looked relieved. “I’ll give you my card. Please come in first thing though. Honestly, it’s pretty cut and dry. Bolton is a known felon. We were all alerted to be on the lookout for him. Frankly, sir, you’re a hero.” 

Tommen shook his head, for a moment believing he was still talking to Uncle Jaime, but the officer had eyes on him. 

“I don’t think so,” he muttered. 

“You are. This guy murdered three guards on his way out. Men who were trained to take guys like him down and were better armed.” 

More cars pulled up. More lights came on. 

“Reporters,” Uncle Jaime hissed. “Let’s go, Tom. Now. Sleep at home tonight.” 

Brienne had apparently thought the same thing, appearing beside them in an instant. She had Theon with her, practically tucked under arm. 

“We’ll walk down to the water. Their attention will be up here,” she decided. 

It felt a little like running away, moving down to the wooden walkway at a good clip. When Brienne got a sense of Theon’s limp, she slowed some, but clearly wanted to be away as quickly as possible. Tommen could make out the muffled sound of yelled questions, like the call of seagulls circling a potential meal. 

Safety in through the backdoor of his second childhood home, Tommen nearly started crying all over again. He found himself at the kitchen table, his hands around a warm mug of tea. Theon was beside him, still vacant eyed, his mug untouched. 

Uncle Jaime sat down heavily beside him, 

“I think we should still send you in with lawyer,” he said quietly. “Just for safety’s sake. Brienne and your sister are calling around, so ranks will close up quickly. We’ll write up a statement for the press.

“Theon, we got your sister’s number from Sansa. Her flight won’t get in until ten.” 

“Yara’s coming?” Theon asked softly and Tommen let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It was the first thing Theon had said. 

“As fast as she can,” Uncle Jaime said in the brusque way he did when he was being gentle. “For now, maybe you should both have a drink and head to bed. Tomorrow will be long.” 

Brienne came back in the room. Tommen realized she was still in her pajamas, long flannel pants and battered t-shirt. Uncle Jaime was in gym shorts and sweatshirt. They had dashed out of the house, shoeless and wayward without a thought. He almost started crying again. 

Instead, he drank his tea (which was spiked liberally with whiskey and it was 50/50 on who’d done that). Brienne handed Theon some clothes and pointed him into Myrcella’s old bedroom. Tommen headed into his room. It had been left mostly as he kept it as a teenager, same posters still on the wall and knickknacks on the shelves. He kept clothes here too and changed into fresh pajamas that were clean if a little stiff from disuse. 

The moonlight arched in, bright and comforting. He curled up under the blankets, but when he closed his eyes all he could hear was Bolton’s voice, the deadly cold rage. The later screams. He opened his eyes again and sighed, reaching for his phone. Which wasn’t there, of course. He’d stupidly left it behind when he’d grabbed his taser. 

His door creaked open and he sat up abruptly, heart in his throat. 

Theon stood there in a too big shirt and a pair of Tommen’s old pajama pants sagging at his waist. 

“Hey,” Tommen swallowed. “Um, you okay?” 

Theon shook his head once, mutely. On impulse, Tommen lifted up the comforter, “I can’t sleep. Want to stay up and gossip?” 

Theon didn’t smile or laugh, but he did come in and close the door firmly behind him. He got in under the blanket. He added no warmth, his body a stiff line of chill. The bed was a full, big enough for two grown men to lay side by side without touching if they tried. 

Tommen put his hand palm up over the covers. He wasn’t sure Theon would ever see it in the dark. 

Cool fingers slid over his. They interlocked. 

Somehow they fell asleep like that, hands joined. 

When Tommen woke, Theon was already gone. The smell of syrup drifted through the air. Tommen shuffled into the kitchen. Sansa was humming to herself and making french toast. 

“Is this an alternate universe?” 

She turned from her work and her face melted into the picture of apologetic sadness, “Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry! I had no idea that he’d figure you where you were.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Tommen said vaguely, and then he was embraced by lemons and red hair flying every which way. He hugged her back. “You didn’t have to come. Did you drive all night?” 

“Just to the train station. Myrcella picked me up from there.” 

“Oh fuck, my sister is here?” he looked over his shoulder. “She’s going to ‘I told you so’ me into outer space.” 

“She’s getting the PR together,” Sansa pulled away and went back to her cooking. “Tyrion is helping. Jaime is fielding phone calls. I’m sure they all want to talk to you, but you should have something to eat first.” 

“Where’s Theon?” 

“He’s been taking a shower for awhile,” she sighed. “I doubt he’ll eat, but I’m making some for him too.” 

Tommen frowned, but let it go. 

“Rey and Lala! ” he remembered all at once. “They must be so scared!” 

“Don’t worry, aside from hissing at the officers, they seem okay. Genny came and took them to the shelter until your house is cleared. There’s a contractor on call to fix your door as soon as we get the thumbs up.” 

“Oh,” he sank back into his chair. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Tom. I blame myself.” 

He ate what she gave him and was grateful when she let him turn the conversation to Eddie. They looked at pictures of her singing her little heart out at a recent school concert, until Tommen felt up to getting dressed and facing the day. 

Theon emerged in time to head to the police station. He was scrubbed pink and raw, but his face was alert. Present. 

The young officer from the night before took Tommen’s statement with perfunctory questions. The whole thing took a half an hour. Theon was already sitting in the waiting area with Uncle Jaime when he got out.

“They’re afraid we’ll sue them,” Uncle Jaime’s face was a gathering of thunder. “For negligence in letting that monster get out. He was in a medium security prison! Medium!’ 

“I don’t want to sue anyone,” Tommen glanced at Theon. “Unless you want to?” 

Theon shook his head, “I don’t want to go to court again. I’m done.” 

“Where’s my brother?” A strident voice cut through the tense hush. Yara filled the doorway. 

“Hi,” Theon got up and she rushed to him. There was no embrace. Instead brother and sister clasped each other forearms like they could save each other from drowning. “I’m okay.” 

“You scared the shit out of me,” she hissed, her eyes running inspection over him. “I’m going to put a knife in that bastard this time myself.” 

“Cop shop,” Theon said low, gentle. 

“Fuck them,” she growled, but much quieter. “Theon.” 

“I’m okay,” he repeated. “Tommen took care of it.” 

The full weight of her gaze fell on him. Tommen gave her a wane smile. 

“I heard you gave the prick a massive concussion,” she said with reluctant admiration. "Gossip is that he threw up all night."

“Good,” he found himself saying with such vehemence that he surprised himself. 

“There’s press outside,” she turned to Uncle Jaime, her mouth pinched. “Sansa told me you have some kind of statement ready?” 

“The chief of police is going to give it,” he said firmly. “I don’t think we need to give away any more of ourselves today.” 

It wasn’t as terrible a clutch as Tommen had dealt with before. Just a handful of reporters chasing old name families who had seen blood last night. But there was no scandal, no new information. The details of the night would never be made public. The dry crumbs were of no real interest for more than a day or so. 

Back at Uncle Jaime and Brienne’s house there was a mob waiting. All the Starks, except Arya who was overseas had gathered and as soon as Tommen got out of the car, they converged. There were hugs, apologies, concerned questions from every direction. Rickon bullied his way to the center and insisted they do their old friendship handshake. 

“You didn’t have to come,” he swallowed hard. 

“Where else would I be?” Rickon said with wide-eyed offense. 

Inside, the Baratheon-Tyrells had more quietly colonized the kitchen. The twins were baking something that smelled delicious while Renly and Loras had taken over phone duty. Margie clapped her hands over her face when she saw him, 

“I never thought you’d have to use it!” And then she hugged him too. “But I’m so glad you have it.” 

“Best birthday present ever,” he agreed. 

“Excuse me,” Myrcella stepped in from the back porch. “I’d like a moment alone with my brother.” 

It was like heading to the gallows, but he went, trying not to shuffle his feet. The sliding glass door cut off the sounds of too many voices. 

“Go ahead,” Tommen turned to her. “Tell me off.” 

“Oh, Tom,” she was staring hard at him, “You...oh I was so scared.” 

She hugged him and it felt like he’d spent the last twelve hours passed from arms to arms. He hugged her back and they didn’t say anything for a long time. 

“You can’t leave me,” her cheek was damp against him. “You understand?” 

“I know. I won’t,” he promised even if they both knew it was a promise that no one could keep. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be brave again,” she squeezed him tighter. “I need my little brother.” 

“It wasn’t fun,” he said half-laughing, half-crying. 

Eventually they went back inside. Uncle Tyrion had arrived and was sitting next to Theon on the couch telling some kind of elaborate story. Yara was on his other side, not actually touching her brother, yet filling the space with a protective barrier. None of the Starks come near him, except for Robb. And even he did a loose circle, pacing as he talked to Loras. 

The impromptu party lasted into the night. But as it broke up, Theon came to Tommen with that wane half-smile. 

“Thank you,” Theon leaned in and kissed his cheek with barest graze of his lips. “Yara wants me to stay at her hotel tonight.” 

“You’re welcome,” Tommen blinked and then Theon was sliding away. Gone. 

The crowd broke up slowly. Rickon and Sansa stayed at the house that night, and it was easy enough to be distracted staying up late to talk to them. Rowan had sent along a pie that Sansa had carefully reserved so they could eat it out of the tin. 

The next day was insurance and contractors. Fending off the last few interested reporters. He spent the afternoon at the bar to get a change of scenery. Uncle Tyrion sat down beside him as the afternoon slid into evening. 

“How are you holding up?” 

“I don’t know,” he spun his finally retrieved phone between his fingers. “It’s weird. Like a nightmare I had.” 

“I know the feeling. Are you sure you want to go back to the house?” 

“It’s my house,” he said firmly. “I’m not letting anyone drive me out of it. The security company is doing a free replacement system with even more redundancies so Uncle Jaime doesn’t sic a whole pack of lawyers on them.” 

“That’s good,” but Tommen could feel the assessment, the way Uncle Tyrion would circle with careful questions. “Just ask me whatever is. I’m too tired for anything else.” 

“You got attached. To that Greyjoy.” 

“Theon,” he said firmly. “And yeah, I guess I did.” 

“You know what he was going to do. To your friends.” 

Rickon had told him. When Sansa had fallen asleep against the arm of the couch. The dark days before Sansa had returned when his father died, his mother and Robb constantly away trying to get his sisters back, it had just been him and Bran. Alone in the big house. Theon had crept in like a shadow. They had trusted him. And in the very worst of it, came close to taking down the entire Stark line. 

Except Sansa and Arya had returned, the sun rose again on the stone manse and Theon had fled to his gruesome fate. 

“He might’ve killed us,” Rickon shook his head. “I don’t know how or why Robb forgave him. Or maybe he hasn’t, I don’t know. I think it might just be pity.” 

“I’m sorry,” Tommen had said with real feeling. The idea that he might never have met Rickon, had a best friend, was horrifying. 

“Would you still have taken him in? If you’d known?” 

Tommen’s fork scraped the bottom of the pie tin, “Probably,” he admitted into the dark. 

“I knew you’d say that,” Rickon had sighed and put an arm around his shoulders. 

Tommen would be lying if he said it didn’t change how he thought of Theon. He could even see the remains of the boy who had been in the man who was. The half-smile that could so easily be a smirk, the surety in how he held a knife, and the way he was quick to a cutting word when he wasn't holding himself tightly back. 

There had been someone else once, before the monster had taken him. Someone who Tommen would’ve hated. 

But that’s not the man that he’d met. 

“I know about it,” he told his uncle. 

“But you still like him just the same,” a statement of fact, not a question.

“If I cast out people that hurt Starks, I wouldn’t be able to talk to my own father.” 

“...you make a sharp point.” 

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Tommen shrugged. “He’s gone. I’ll probably never see him again.” 

“Right,” Uncle Tyrion nodded in that way he did when he knew something you didn’t know. It was pretty much how he nodded all the time. “Of course. Over and done with.” 

And it was for about a week. His life returned to normal. There were some bad dreams, and he started awake in the middle of the night more than once. His family was clearly on watch duty, rotating out visitors for dinner every night. The volunteers at the shelter stuffed him full of cookies and asked nosy questions. The cats went on being cats. Rey and Lala forgave him for the upturned few days, resettling into the house. 

But there were changes. Of course there were. 

He ducked into the senior room on his first day back and they were down a member. 

“Where’s Juice?” He asked, bewildered. 

“Oh, your man adopted him,” Frieda pat his arm. “We thought you knew. His sister is a dark storm cloud of a thing, isn’t she?” 

“Yeah,” he smiled tightly. “Well, I’m glad he got a good home.” 

At the comic book store, they asked after his new friend. He gave perfunctory answers and left faster than usual. 

He didn’t go in the guest bedroom. 

Nearly two weeks afterwards, his family had calmed down some and no one popped in with a surprise dinner invitation. He had returned to sitting in the living room after dinner instead of nesting in his bed. 

His phone buzzed as he settled in one night. The text was from an unknown number, 

_ this is theon. Yara made me get a new number. Wanted you to have it. _

Tommen pressed his lips together. He could just not respond. Theon would probably get it. Would probably disapper from his life forever. The Iron Islands were a very long way away. 

_ hi. Just going to start Black Panther. Too bad we didn’t get to it before. _

There was a long pause. Just when he figured that was all there would be, his phone buzzed again. 

_ i can stream it. Want to sync up? _

They watched the whole thing together, texts quickly getting too hard to send fast enough. A videochat was proposed and insitgated immediatly. Theon’s face filled the screen, unchanged and lovely. He smiled, a quick flicker of a thing, when he saw Tommen. 

“Unicorns, cats, or narwhals tonight?” 

Tommen looked down at his pajama pants, “I think these are ‘Cella’s old yoga pants actually. She left her stuff in my laundry again.” 

The movie was more fun to watch together. Afterwards, Theon turned on the lights on his end and at Tommen’s request, showed him the room. The walls were stone, draped with faded tapestries. Heavy wood furniture, carved within an inch of its life took up most of the space. But it was clearly Theon’s with a few tasteful black and white movie posters framed between tapestries. The mirror had pictures shoved between the frame and the glass, images from another time where a teenage Robb had his arm around him. A more recent shot of Yara, sitting on a dark boulder looking over the sea. Even over the tinney connection, Tommen could hear the waves, more restless and quick than the ones on his end. 

The bed was thick with blankets, and even an enormous fur, the kind that got passed down through generations to stave off the freezing winters. 

“Is it the same room you had as a kid?” Tommen asked when he could see Theon’s face again. 

“Wasn’t really here much as a kid. I had a room at Winterfell.” 

“I see,” although he didn’t, but that was a deep well of pain that he wasn’t interested in plumbing just then. “What about Yara?” 

“Yara raised herself,” Theon said and it sounded fond. “We weren’t close as kids. We sort of hated each other. But then we were the only ones left. So we looked after each other.”

“She made a real impression on the twins. Renly says they’ve been saving up for boots like hers.” 

“They’re good if you’re on a ship,” he snorted. “Otherwise they’re just to make a good thump when you stomp up the stairs.” 

“So you don’t have a pair lying around?” 

“Of course I do. I still get on the deck of a ship once and awhile,” he looked comfortable in his own bed, fur piled up in his lap. “I think maybe...maybe I’ll even learn to drive again. Yara’s got a beat up old Jeep I could learn on.” 

They chatted like old friends and hung up when it got late. Two days later, Theon texted again and then it became a thing. They watched movies and talked just like they had when he lived there. It wasn’t really the same, but it was all right. 

Theon talked more over the distance. About this childhood with the Starks. About what he did during the day (complaining about untangling fishing nets was a recurring theme). Juice wandered in and out the background as the topics veered darker. What recovery was like, how he’d found a therapist (over videochat, there was apparently no such thing as therapy on the Iron Islands). 

Tommen told him about Joffery, the miserable years of his petty tyranny over their house. About the bullying at his prep school and total invisibility in public school. Theon listened, and eventually talked about his regrets. The person that he’d been that he wished he could shed like a skin. The ways he tried to reconcile that with who had become. 

“Did you mean that?” Theon asked in a thready whisper when they’d stayed up far too late one night. 

“Mean what?” Tommen propped his chin up on his hand. 

“About forgiveness. The houses.” 

The conversation flooded back to him, “Yes. I meant it.”

Myrcella invited Tommen along on a buying trip to Dorne and he agreed readily. It had been years and he needed a break from routine. 

“The connection is usually miserable in Dorne, “ Tommen warned. Theon was watching from the laptop as he packed. “But I’ll text you when I get back, all right?” 

“Have a good time,” Theon was sitting outside, the sun on his face. His skin had gained some good color as the spring warmed the world. “Don’t get seduced by Dornish boys and never come home.” 

“Please. That’s ‘Cella, I’m just going for sun and food. Have you ever had malla bread dipped in spicy eggplant?” 

“Can’t say I have,” Theon smiled warmly at him. 

The vacation was just what he needed. They stayed with Trystane, who clearly wanted to be on again with Myrcella. She even seemed to be considering it. They were clearly concerned mostly with each other, which was fine by Tommen. He took an internet sabbatical and spent the days walking through the closest town, eating new things, shopping, and convincing one of the local weavers to let him sit in on a lesson for children. 

At night he planned out his next cosplay (pre-serum Steve Rogers) and watched Dornish television programs with subtitles off. He practiced what little he picked up on Trystane in the mornings, who would gently correct him. 

On their last day, he went back to the town to the art gallery at the end of the high street. There were lovely watercolors there of local scenes, mostly aimed at tourists. Which was fine, he was a tourist. He found the one he wanted and paid for it to be shipped home. 

As soon as they landed, he turned on his phone and before he texted Uncle Jaime, he sent a message to Theon. 

_ Back home safe. Great trip. _

_ Welcome back, can’t wait to see pictures. _

Tommen sent him the one of him and Myrcella under the shade of an awning, faces pink from too much sun and laughing over the little lizards that darted this way and that. 

_ never seen an anole that close! Super cute. _

_ you’d proably think a bear was cute right before it ate you _

_ bears are cute! Have you seen how round they get before hibernating?! _

“New guy?” Myrcella elbowed him as they stepped up to customs. 

“No,” he shoved his phone guiltily in his pocket. It buzzed again a second later. 

“Uh huh,” they handed over their passport. “So what, just a really good text buddy?” 

“Something like that.” 

He didn’t check his phone again until he’d gotten into his car and Myrcella had been safely whisked away by a driver. Theon had sent him a meme of an enormous black bear, clearly prepared for a long winter with the words ‘Campers in sleeping bags are the burritos of the bear world’. 

_ another good reason to never go camping _ he sent back. 

The texts segued into a video chat as he unpacked. The surge of warm happiness in his belly when he saw Theon’s face was a problem. 

“You look burned,” Theon raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t you wear sunscreen?”

“I’m delicate," he sniffed. “Hello to you too.” 

“Hi, Tom,” Theon started again with a laugh. “How was the food, since I can see what the sun did to you?” 

“The food treated me a lot better,” he agreed. “I wish I could’ve talked to you while I was there. I saw a bunch of things you would’ve liked.” 

“Oh yeah, like what?” 

So Tommen told him about the still oasis they’d visited with it’s warm pool that people claimed could heal your every wound. The shops that were crammed full of knick knacks and interesting clothing. He showed him the shirts that he’d bought and the long lacy shawls he was going to give out at work tomorrow. 

“I got a few movie recommendations from Trystane too. Your kind of thing, all long slow dramas with lots of eyeliner everywhere.” 

“That’s my taste?” Theon grinned, a full shining thing. 

“Yep, as far as I can tell.” 

He had jetlag though and had to end the conversation before he fell asleep where he stood. 

“Movie on Thursday?” he confirmed. 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Theon agreed. He leaned a little closer to the camera, “Hey, Tom?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I missed you too. Good to see your face.” 

“You can see it whenever you want. You’re always welcome here.” Tommen felt heat rushing to his cheeks. “In person too if you want. Maybe I’ll come to you and you can show me all your rocky beaches.” 

“I’d like that someday,” Theon nodded. “Talk to you Thursday.” 

If he left the shelter a little early on Thursday it was just because he was still jet lagged. He was already planning to take a long hot shower before starting on his latest creation. Theon would probably tease him as he sewed, but he liked having something to do with his hands. 

He walked through his neighborhood. Brienne was just leaving for work as he went by and waved him over for a quick chat. It was their anniversary that weekend and he’d promised to check in on the house. They were hiking trail through a mountain with their sword fighting friends. 

“Sounds fun,” he said without any real feeling. 

“And that’s why you’re not invited,” she rolled her eyes. “Speaking though, Tyrion is making noise about a family trip in the fall. Maybe a cruise. Prepare yourself.” 

“Oh, really? Which cruise line?” He pretended interest as if he and Sansa hadn't engineered the whole thing. 

“The idea that being stuck on a boat full of senior citizens is more appealing than camping is difficult for me to grapple with,” she said solemnly. “You’re a very strange boy.” 

“Are you calling your husband a senior citizen?” he teased. 

“I’m waiting for the day he gets his AARP card in the mail,” she laughed. “I’ll have to pet his ego for days.”

They said their goodbyes and Tommen went on down the street. The sea was calm and the air blew in over the water fresh and briney. The gulls called to each other. As he approached the house, he could make out something on his stoop. A package maybe. He still hadn’t gotten the shipment from Dorne, but perhaps it finally found it’s way here. He picked up his pace. 

It wasn’t a package, he quickly realized. It was a person, sitting on his steps. In skinny dark wash jeans and a black t-shirt that showed off freckled arms that looked stronger than one might guess. A beanie was jammed over wavy golden-dyed hair. It was the least amount of clothing that Tommen had ever seen him in, he thought nonsensically as he slowed his approach. 

For a moment, it was clear that Theon hadn’t seen him. He looked nervous, hands knotted together in front of him, but not the tense wariness that Tommen had gotten used to. He looked like any thirty-something on their day off. There was a Jeep in Tommen’s driveway, smattered in dirt. 

“Hi,” Tommen stepped onto the pathway, a dozen feet still separating them. 

Theon looked up, a smile blossoming over his face, “Hi. I thought maybe if that invitation was really open...” 

“Yeah, yes,” Tommen wasn’t sure what expression his face was making. His heartbeat wildly in his chest. “You came on your own?” 

“Something I’ve been trying,” Theon got up, stepped down off the first step. “Once I got my license back. Short drives here and there. Then longer ones.”

“Wow,” Tommen couldn’t stop staring. He wanted to devour him with his eyes. “That’s great! But that’s a serious drive down here without calling ahead.” 

“If I stopped to think too much I wouldn’t have done it,” another step and they were before each other now. "I got the idea in my head and I just...I just drove."

Tommen held out a hand. Theon took it. For a long moment, they just looked soppily at each other. 

“So I hope I’m not reading this all wrong," Tommen ventured, "but this is literally the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me, so I’m going to kiss you now if that’s okay?” 

A nod. Tommen leaned in and kissed him gently. Theon’s hand came up, cupping the back of his neck. He didn’t want to break away, made a soft disappointed sound when Theon drew back. 

“I thought if anyone was ever with me again it’d be for the money,” he said quietly. “But you don’t need that. I’m a decade older than you, broken, unlikely to work steadily ever. I’m moody and not very nice. Even if I physically could, I’m not sure I could stand to ever have sex again.” 

“What about the kissing?” Tommen squeezed the hand still in his. “Can we keep doing that?” 

“I..yes?” 

“And the falling asleep together? Talking all hours of the day and night?” 

“Yes,” he raised his eyebrows. 

“And you’ll come with me to the next convention? Travel with me? Put up with the fact that I’m always covered in cat hair?” 

“I can do all that,” Theon shook his head. “But I’m not the kind of a boyfriend for someone like you.” 

“You’re the only one I’ll have, so you’ll just have to try your best,” he leaned in and kissed him again. 

Theon never left again. Yara came down a week later with more of his clothes and the cat. She told Tommen that Theon was his problem now, but also to call her if they needed anything. The picture from Dorne arrived the day after she left. They hung the watercolor together at the end of the hall, the wood long ago refinished to hide the blood stain. 

It was a simple, layered watercolor: two houses leaning against each other under the sheltering arch of an ancient crumbling temple. They were a little mis-matched, those two houses, but they kept each other up all the same.


End file.
